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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005219">some imagined freedom</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattedmariposa/pseuds/tattedmariposa'>tattedmariposa</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(also cw for suicide ideation), (and talking openly about dying), M/M, The Future Past DLC, The Future Past Timeline (Fire Emblem), and talked about how we almost died together, and we were both boys...?, haha... unless?, what if we shared a tent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:08:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,162</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattedmariposa/pseuds/tattedmariposa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The night after emerging victorious from a pivotal battle (and barely escaping with their lives), Inigo and Owain have little left to face but each other.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azur | Inigo/Eudes | Owain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>some imagined freedom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Somewhere just beyond the border of Plegia, off of a muddy roadside and under the halfhearted shelter of some scraggly brush, it was still raining.</p><p>“Inigo.”</p><p>He blinked in the dark, pointlessly, bleary-eyed and exhausted.</p><p>“Are you still awake?”</p><p>He shouldn’t have been -- he didn't want to be.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>A million little things kept his eyes open. Noticing how he could finally feel his freezing hands again, wishing his hair wasn’t so damp against his bedroll, wondering if his soaked clothes would be anywhere near dry by the next day.</p><p>Not so far to his left, Owain shifted, the shuffle of cloth nearly lost to the relentless strum of the rain and wind.</p><p>“Slumber’s embrace eludes me,” Owain announced loftily, with a dramatic sigh. And then, more plainly, “I thought for sure I’d fall asleep right away.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Inigo said again. He turned on his side, resting his head in the crook of his arm. Across from him, he could just barely tell that Owain had already sat up halfway, unruly hair and the slope of his broad shoulders atop a vague mass of blankets. “Me too.”</p><p>He thought about the rain, and the cold, and the dull ache in his legs from running and walking all day, and the sharper pain of injury -- from cuts on his arms and his ribs, the gash on his right shoulder, and too many bruises and scrapes to count.  He thought about how they got there, and how he wasn’t really thinking about anything else. How all of his small discomforts were little more than distractions.</p><p>“I’m not bothering you, am I?”</p><p>“You’re not,” Inigo answered honestly. “I can’t sleep either.”</p><p>He sat up as it to prove it, carefully rearranging his bedding and trying to keep the cold air at bay. The dirty, scratchy cloth that passed as his blanket scraped unpleasantly against one of his more bothersome wounds, and in the uneasy silence, he bit back a pained hiss.</p><p>Just for something to fill the empty space, he offered, all false brightness: “At least we should be able to sleep in tomorrow.” </p><p>He hoped as much, anyway. It was a bit safer now that they were out of Plegia, but he knew better than to count on it. Certainty was a luxury they never had.</p><p>“Yeah.” There was enough ambivalence to it that Inigo wondered if Owain was thinking the same thing. And then, just as readily as the notion occurred, “Brady said that if either of us wake him, we’re getting punched in the face.”</p><p>Inigo let himself laugh, glad for the momentary levity. “He would, wouldn’t he.” </p><p>He thought he’d kept his tone light, but where he’d expected some quick retort or another laugh in turn, or <em>something</em> -- there was nothing but quiet. He tried again.  </p><p>“I can’t say I blame him.” Pause. Still nothing. “We all had a long day.”</p><p>More silence, and Inigo immediately began to regret falling back on their earlier topic.  </p><p>“Yeah. I guess so.”  </p><p>He heard Owain move, finally sitting up properly from where he had been half-laying, and Inigo strained to watch his vague outlines shift in the dark. Mostly what he saw was more blanket, abstract and uninteresting. But the consideration made him realize he was staring, and despite the dark, it also made him lower his eyes, his face suddenly a little warmer.  </p><p>“I can’t remember the last time I was this tired.”  </p><p>Inigo made some slight sound of agreement, and let the sound of the rain wash over them for a moment, while he attempted to collect his thoughts, or maybe stop thinking at all. He wasn’t sure anymore.</p><p>“It’s like... like I can’t turn off my brain.” When Inigo looked up, he could tell that Owain was running a hand through his hair, back and forth. He paused mid-gesture, and Inigo found himself staring again at Owain’s awkward silhouette. “Not long enough to fall asleep.”</p><p>It sounded more like an admission than a statement. Again unable to stand the quiet, Inigo returned it in kind.</p><p>“Yeah. I can’t either.”</p><p>Weariness dampened every last thing in his head, even as his restless thoughts needled at him, prickling just enough to keep him awake. Even as the uncertainty that tinged their meaningless small talk told him that Owain was stalling, on something or another. </p><p>He pulled his blankets a bit closer, shivering a little.  </p><p>“Inigo.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>A slight hesitation stretched and turned tense, to the point where Inigo almost spoke again himself.</p><p>“Are you angry with me?”</p><p>He paused. Whatever half-formed triviality he’d nearly given voice wilted on his tongue. </p><p>“For earlier,” Owain added, a touch fainter. Like he could’ve meant anything else.  </p><p>Inigo’s first thought was that he wished he had pretended to be asleep after all, and he immediately felt guilty for it. He then considered the merits of lying, or playing it off, and felt guilty for that too.</p><p>“I wouldn't blame you, if you are. I know I--” Owain broke off, exhaling in a frustrated sigh. “I put you in a bad position.”  </p><p>That’s not why, Inigo wanted to say. He didn’t.</p><p>“Well, it’s...” He hesitated, scrambling around in his tired head for something that would at least sound convincing, something better than <i>I don’t want to talk about this</i>. “It’s not like we had any better choices, right?  I mean, things looked pretty bad at the time, and we’re fine now, so--” He realized he was rambling. “So it’s okay.”</p><p>He wondered why lying was so much easier, sometimes. Under his blanket, his fingertips sought his mother’s ring. He twirled it fitfully, the metal cool on his skin.</p><p>Owain went on like Inigo hadn’t said anything at all, like the pause that passed in the meantime never happened. </p><p>“I’m such an idiot.”</p><p>“Don't--” He heard his voice rise in a lilt, falling on his ears as though it hadn't come from his own mouth, betraying his surprise at the contempt dripping from Owain's short and harsh appraisal of the situation -- and of himself.  </p><p>“Don’t say that.”</p><p>Owain laughed that time, short and breathy and oddly stilted.  </p><p>“You said it yourself. Before.”</p><p>Inigo didn’t want to talk about that either. Didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to admit that, for any number of reasons, he shouldn't have been surprised at all. </p><p>“I didn’t mean it,” he offered after a moment, even though at the time, it hadn’t been quite true. “I mean -- not exactly.” </p><p>Hanging in the chilly air between them, even to his own ears, it sounded awfully unconvincing.</p><p>“Then what?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said. He stared at the near-void where his covered hands rested in his lap, trying to sort it out for himself. He thought about it, or as well as he could manage, and settled on, “I just wanted you to listen to me.”</p><p>There was some soft rustling again, probably more of Owain’s fidgeting, and Inigo couldn’t bring himself to look up. </p><p>“I did listen, you know.”</p><p>He had been halfway expecting something more hostile. Something more along the lines of calling him out on his thinly stretched truths, or the hypocrisy behind them. But he knew too, that despite all his usual posturing, it wasn’t in Owain’s nature to lash out. </p><p>He halfway wished it was. Maybe that would've been easier.  Anger he could handle, but all the stilted, knife-edged questions, and the stifling silences--</p><p>“I know,” he said, quietly. “I believe you.” </p><p>He kept his head down, trying to distract himself with anything -- twisting his ring, prodding at one of his bruises, listening to the incessant rain bearing down on their tent. But he found himself imagining what the night might’ve hidden. He pictured Owain chewing at the corner of his mouth, or at his nails, little nervous habits that pervaded even his most practiced facades. He wondered if he had one hand wrapped around the opposite elbow, as he tended to in his moments of worry.</p><p>Inigo wanted to laugh at himself. He felt more than a little pathetic, for being able to picture all of it so easily. For knowing someone so well, and yet not having a clue what to say to him when it mattered.  </p><p>He heard Owain breathe in sharply.  </p><p>“You are mad at me, aren't you.”</p><p>It wasn’t fair of him, he knew. The conversation alone was proof enough of what had to be going through Owain’s head, right then. And it wasn’t that Inigo wanted any of this -- he absolutely hated hearing Owain this way, hesitant and unsettled, all of his doubt and disgust turned in on himself. </p><p>But he couldn't bring himself to lie again or to tell the truth, so he said nothing.  Even though he knew it was as good as a yes.</p><p>“I keep thinking that--” Owain began, before going silent. Inigo waited for him. “I know you probably don't want to hear it now. But I keep thinking that if it had to be anyone, I’m glad it was you. There with me, I mean." He made a strange sound, like another truncated attempt at an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry. I know how selfish that sounds."</p><p>“Stop it,” Inigo murmured, and he wondered briefly how many times he'd repeated the same thing. He reached out into the dark without really thinking about it, landing first in more blankets and then along the curve of Owain's arm tapering into his wrist, lightly resting his fingers somewhere in between.  </p><p>"I'm glad I stayed." He paused and thought it over, because what he'd said didn't seem like enough, and stared intently at the vague outline of his hand lain over Owain's skin. Like that alone could be enough of a reassurance, if only he willed it to be.  "I mean it."</p><p>He swallowed hard, imagining in a split second how things could've gone. How things didn't go. How incredibly, stupidly lucky they both were to be resting, miserable and exhausted and freezing though they were, in a soaked field, in a damp, cold tent.</p><p>Owain's skin was like ice too, he thought, and something about the realization made Inigo suddenly self-conscious. He meant to withdraw his hand, but he wound up running his fingers against the back of Owain's hand -- as though, in spite of the numb panic in his head, he couldn't quite bring himself to let go.  </p><p>And in the moment he hesitated, Owain turned his hand over instead, slowly enough that he seemed almost hesitant about it too, and interlaced their fingers, palm against palm. Inigo let his fingers curl into place of their own accord, staring dumbly like he didn't understand what just happened, even as Owain squeezed back.  </p><p>In their shared silence, the sound of the rain was like a constant thrumming in his head, painfully loud and yet not nearly loud enough. He wished, suddenly and intensely, that Owain would say something else so he wouldn't have to think about how he was holding his best friend's hand, or how terrified that made him feel, or how he should be grateful, all things considered, to be able to at all.</p><p>He blurted the first thing that came to his mind -- the first thing that wasn't any of that.  </p><p>“I didn’t want you to die.” </p><p>He hated, fiercely, the thickness in his voice, the way his actors’ composure always seemed to fail him when he needed it the most. He was gripping Owain’s hand like a vise, and nearly beyond the point of caring. </p><p>His name escaped Owain's throat as little more than a stricken, guilty whisper, and in that moment it was the only thing Inigo hated more. “I’m sorry--”</p><p>“I don’t want you to be sorry!”  It came out louder than he meant, and opposite of him, Owain quickly looked up from where his head was bent, startled.  “I just--" </p><p>The wind blew hard again. Inigo brought his free hand to his face, where his blankets didn’t cover -- to his eyes, where hours and days and weeks and maybe even an entire lifetime of hard-tamped grief and shame and silent longing all threatened to spill over at once.</p><p>"I just don't want you to do it again.”  </p><p>Then Owain was turning away from him, looking anywhere but in the direction of Inigo's embarrassing outburst, and he stopped abruptly. Inigo was the one to duck his head then, to let his bangs fall into his burning face, even if he knew it was too dark for Owain to notice -- even if he wouldn't look anyway. He dug his teeth viciously into the soft flesh of his inner lip, and forced out what he'd wanted to say all along.</p><p>“Maybe I’m selfish too.”</p><p>Because it was, wasn't it? He thought of all the times he should've been the one to-- and he couldn't even bring himself to think it, right then. All the sticky blood and glassy eyes and violent, desperate screams that should have been his. His father, wide-eyed and frantic, pushing him away. His mother shrieking at him, shrill and desperate, to run.<br/>
 <br/>
He'd cheated death countless times over, and for what? For the cold comfort of a damp tent in the middle of nowhere, clinging to the faint, impossible dream that this time would be different? Who was Inigo to tell Owain that it was still enough? That <em>Owain</em> was the selfish one, for somewhere, in the midst of all they'd suffered together, losing that tenuous grasp on hope itself.</p><p>And yet here he was, clinging to Owain's hand like a lifeline, hoping against hope, daring to dream. In the silence that threatened to muffle the rain itself, he could all but feel the tide between the two of them turning, in Owain's bowed neck and distant eyes, in his tense shoulders and shallow breath -- just perceptible above the pattering rain and howling wind. </p><p>Something deep and tumultuous inside of Inigo ached at the very sight. He'd outlived too many loved ones himself to miss the guilt that furled off of Owain in crashing waves, scrawled boldly between every single line.</p><p>And he realized, belatedly, that his anger had gone, leaving something far more terrifying in its wake. </p><p>"I wasn't even scared." Owain spoke into the silence, nearly choking on his words, voice sounding as broken as Inigo felt. </p><p>"Owain--"</p><p>"Not until you said you'd stay with me."</p><p>Inigo blinked helplessly in the dark, and in the pause that followed, he thought, for a confused split second, that the tent must've been leaking.</p><p>"Owain," he repeated in a hush, his eyes widening enough to take in the hunched slope of Owain's shoulders, quaking in a silent sob, and then flinching under Inigo's free hand. "It's--"</p><p>Owain cut him off before he could say it, voice spilling out with an almost hysterical, barely-controlled edge, even now trying to stop himself from falling apart. </p><p>"I don't know what's wrong with me."</p><p>"I'd be more worried if you weren't upset, I think," he murmured back, unconsciously moving closer, pulling Owain to his bare shoulder. Any other time he would've been mortified. "Here. C'mere."</p><p>Owain didn't resist, but he didn't relax either. Not until Inigo brought his hand to the back of his head, withouth even thinking about it, realizing too late that Owain's hair was softer than he'd ever imagined. Realizing even later that it was an awful thing to think about, right then.</p><p>"I don't regret it, Owain. Not for a second." He made himself say it, even as the very words struck a fresh jolt of simultaneous fear and relief through his very being -- even as Owain gave in and leaned into him, hot tears on his cold skin. "I know I made the right choice."</p><p>Owain didn't say anything for a few moments, hardly made a sound at all, the well-defined lean muscle of his back trembling with effort, with flimsy restraint, under the flat of Inigo's palm.</p><p>"But <em>I</em> didn't." </p><p>"You're here," Inigo said softly, maybe to reassure both of them at once, shaking his head like he couldn't even bring himself to consider otherwise. "You're here now, and that's what matters."</p><p>"Does it?"</p><p>"Yeah." It came out without him thinking about it, like second nature, like an absolute. And he felt the telltale prickle of tears welling up in his own eyes, felt the words catch in his throat, at the very idea that Owain could even wonder. "It does to me."</p><p>It was too much, and the dam that was Owain's last shred of self-control flooded over all at once, overfull with both of their pain.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Owain blurted, somewhere between a sniffle and a gasp. "I'm sorry, Inigo."</p><p>"It's okay," Inigo told him, hardly any better off -- even though it wasn't. Even though they weren't. "You're okay."</p><p>"You almost died, because of me. And I almost--"</p><p>"It's okay," he repeated quietly, desperately, because he couldn't bear to hear it. "It's okay."</p><p>He could feel Owain try to swallow away a new sob, could feel his effort fail miserably, while his own tears stained his face.</p><p>They stayed like that for a while, in the freezing damp air, in the now-unquiet dark.</p><p>"Here," Inigo said at last, with his face still wet, with Owain's breath just barely starting to calm itself. He pulled one of their blankets up and around them, maybe just for something to do, to distract -- for one thing he could still fix, still do <em>something</em> about. "You're cold."</p><p>Owain simply nodded against his shoulder, head still bent, like maybe he didn't trust himself to speak yet. He didn't move, either, letting Inigo arrange the blanket over their shoulders, wrapping them close.</p><p>"I'm being selfish, again," Owain mumbled against his shoulder, the words nearly lost in the scant, warming space between them.</p><p>And Inigo suddenly felt all too aware of how close they were. </p><p>"How so?"</p><p>"Keeping you here," he said, and Inigo could feel him swallow, could feel his fingers twist in the blankets, in consternation. "Part of me doesn't want to let you go."</p><p>Inigo might've forgotten to breathe. In an instant, he thought of all the ways he could play it off, all the ways he could've avoided this scenario in the first place. </p><p>But mostly he was grateful -- eternally, fondly, stupidly so -- to have Owain there with him at all.</p><p>"You don't have to," he managed, after a moment. "I don't want you to."</p><p>Owain nodded again, this time chin resting over Inigo's shoulder, and a long, silent sigh relaxing the set of his frame, as if this was something approaching normal. For once, his fingers settling back in Owain's hair, Inigo found himself not caring if it was. </p><p>If they didn't make it back in time, if they both died tomorrow, if all their worst fears came true and the world went up in flames -- at least Owain would have this, if it was what he wanted. </p><p>They would have this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've wanted to write some version of this story for years. I know Awakening has long since come and gone, but it feels good to finally have this fic out of my system.</p><p>The title I used comes from <a href="https://genius.com/Bright-eyes-ladder-song-lyrics">this song</a>, which has long since been a favorite of mine for Inigo/Owain.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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